


Histories Written on Skin in Ink

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: During Game, F/F, F/M, Post-Game, Pre-Game(s), Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Zevran and Sereda have tattoos, significant and insignificant, that tell the stories of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Histories Written on Skin in Ink

Sereda gets her first tattoo when she’s fourteen.  It’s just the beginning of a much larger piece, but she still feels a deep sense of pride as the needles prick into her skin.  The first step is the smaller design on her forehead.  

Over the next couple years, more and more of the design will be filled in.  By the time she’s eighteen, the top two thirds of her face will be covered.  A part down her nose and firm, strong designs sweeping across her brow, down to spread across her cheeks.  The completed design will mark her as a warrior and a noble, giving honor to the Ancestors through battle.  

It hurts more than she had expected every time, but that’s good, too.  She likes being able to feel the design seared into her skin.  Honestly, Sereda misses it when the stinging fades.  She sits in front of the mirror, taking in the new, firm lines on her face.  

Most nobles don’t get tattoos, but she’s always been more interested in her warrior heritage than politicking.  She knows that some second children envy the first, but she much prefers her place to Trian’s. 

“I see you’ve earned more of your tattoo.  It looks good on you, Lady Aeducan,” Adal Helmi says, crossing her arms and bowing.

“Thank you, Lady Helmi,” Sereda says, heart pounding as she repeats the gesture of respect.  

They’re in public so they have to be so stiffly formal, and it’s maddening.  Sereda wants to be able to reach out and hold her hand, or even just to hear her first name fall from Adal’s lips.  But there are other people around.

Adal traces the lines of her tattoo when they’re alone.  Tender, loving touches that leave her breathless.  The pain feels like nothing compared to the tender touches of the girl she loves.  

“You are beautiful, Sereda,” Adal murmurs softly.  “You’ll strike fear into the enemies of Orzammar one day.  Even the mindless darkspawn will run in fear.”

“Together.  We’ll do it together,” Sereda says.  “Two beautiful warriors: inseparable and deadly and in love.”

Sereda kisses her, reveling in the taste of her lips.  She wishes sometimes that she was better with her words, so she could tell Adal about all the little things she loves about her.  Being around Adal makes her feel so tongue tied and so ridiculously foolish.  Less like a princess and more like a person.  

* * *

Zevran starts getting tattoos when he’s young.  He doesn’t remember the exact age, honestly, but he likes them.  The pain is nothing new, and they give him a sense of… freedom, even if freedom is a distant, foreign concept.   

The Crows make them fight, make them kill, make them so cold inside.  But Zevran can put tattoos on his body as he pleases, as long as they don’t detract from his attractiveness.  Luckily, he’s a very handsome man, and many people find the exoticness of tattoos exciting.  

He even persuades someone to teach him the art, so he can give tattoos to other Crows.  Rinna, Taliesen, and many others all bear his art on their skin.  He gets better over time, and soon he’s putting complex designs onto his comrades’ bodies.  

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” Rinna says lazily, arm stretched above her head and watching him work.  

“What’s not to love?” Zevran asks, not looking up from her belly button.  This is going to be his most beautiful design yet.  “I put beautiful designs on beautiful people, and if I am lucky, they allow me to pleasure them to offset the pain.”

Rinna laughs, running her fingers through his hair lightly.  A risky move, considering he’s putting ink under her skin at the moment, but his hands are steady.  

“That can be arranged,” Rinna says, leaning back.

Zevran pauses for just a moment and presses a kiss to her hip before getting back to work.

* * *

“So do you really have tattoos all over, or were you just teasing Alistair?” Sereda asks.

Zevran grins at her in the way that never fails to make her stomach flip flop ridiculously.  Nobody has made her feel like this since Adal.  “Wouldn’t you rather wait and see for yourself?”

Sereda raises her eyebrows.  “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I have every reason to be,” Zevran says.  “Unless I have misinterpreted what you’ve said.”

“No, no, you definitely haven’t,” Sereda says. 

“Then I will leave it a surprise, my dear,” Zevran says.  

“You are…” Sereda trails off, making a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.  

“Ah, but delightful, yes?” Zevran counters.

Sereda can’t help but agree.

* * *

Sereda runs her fingers over every last tattoo.  They’re an intricate mix of designs, and even if they don’t match, per se, they all go together.  Zevran is beautiful.  It’s mighty unfair, but Sereda certainly isn’t about to complain.  

“Enjoying yourself?” Zevran asks, clearly amused as Sereda traces the swirl over his collarbone for the dozenth time.  

“I think you know the answer to that,” Sereda murmurs.  “I’m pretty sure the whole camp knows the answer to that.  Ancestors, Loghain might know, too.”

“An excellent point,” Zevran says with a chuckle.  “You are quite loud.”

“I’m not, mostly,” Sereda says.  “It used to annoy the people I took to bed, but, by the Paragons, you are very talented.”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Zevran says.

* * *

“I ought to have you branded, you know.  If you’re going to be doing business here,” Bhelen says when there’s nowhere left for them to go but Orzammar.  “Everyone should know they’re talking to one of the casteless, after all.  That tattoo might confuse them.”

The thought makes Sereda feel sick.  It’s not only being branded as casteless or the thought of being held down to be tattooed while Bhelen laughs over her helplessness.  But she knows Bhelen would make sure that the brand went through her tattoo, destroying her beautiful tribute to the Ancestors forever.  On the surface, she really feels like she needs that connection to them more than ever, even if she has been rejected by the Stone.

“If you or your goons touch me, I’ll kill you,” Sereda says in a low voice.  “I’m not a coward like you are; I’ll put a sword in your heart myself, and you’ll be very dead.”

“Harrowmont wants to cut off ties to the surface.  He might not give you your army,” Bhelen says.  “The Grey Wardens won’t much like that, I imagine; it would be disastrous for Orzammar.”

Sereda grins, and it’s times like this that she actually likes her connection to the darkspawn.  When she needs to be feral and offputting and capable of doing despicable things.  The Taint makes her sick, twisted, and wrong, and she can use that to her advantage. 

“Bhelen, dear brother, the Grey Wardens don’t care if an Aeducan sits on the throne or not.  Just as Orzammar cares not for the surface, the surface cares not for Orzammar.  Why else would they let the warriors of Orzammar die on their own in the Deep Roads, century after century?” Sereda says with a grim smile.  

“That doesn’t solve your army problem,” Bhelen says, still sounding confident.  But there’s an advantage to supporting her brother, and it’s that she can read him.  She can tell he’s unsettled.

“He's a traditionalist.  A traditionalist can't refuse an offer from the Grey Wardens,” Sereda says.  “Besides, he's a weak, old man, and after I've brought him your body, he won't even consider crossing me.”

“You know, if you were this ruthless back when I was planning my ascent, maybe we could have found a way to work together,” Bhelen says.  “What has the surface done to you?”

“Maybe one day you’ll find out,” Sereda says with a shrug.  “Treat me with respect or die.  Those are your choices.”

Bhelen inclines his head, just a fraction.  “Respect it is then.”

* * *

That night they stay in the inn in the commons, even if the innkeeper is loathe to let her stay.  Unsurprisingly, Zevran ends up on her bed, lounging and watching her pace around the room.  He doesn’t want to talk about her brother or their threats against each other; he wants to soothe her somehow.

“Your tattoos mean something, don’t they?” Zevran asks idly.

Sereda pauses and turns to face him.  “Don’t yours?” 

“They are designs that I found pleasing, that I thought would make me more appealing,” Zevran says.  

“That must have been difficult- narrowing it down, I mean. Looking handsome isn't exactly hard for you,” Sereda says.  

“Too true,” Zevran says.  “And your tattoos?”

Sereda sits next to him on the bed, and he perks up in response.  

“Parts of it are adapted from the Aeducan crest.  The rest of it…” Sereda bites her lip, like she’s not sure if he really cares.  “It has to do with the Ancestors and my people’s beliefs.”

“I want to know,” Zevran assures her.

It’s an interesting change of position, considering it’s generally him explaining how the surface works.  She lights up in a whole new way when he expresses his interest.  That he is genuinely interested surprises him.  Not because he has a deep interest in dwarven religion, but because this is clearly important to her, and he wants to understand her that little bit more.

“The dwarves of Orzammar return to the Stone when they die, to strengthen her and become the Ancestors that guide us,” Sereda explains with a smile.  “These tattoos signify that, but with a sense that I’ll only return to the Stone after killing many, many of Orzammar’s enemies.  It’s an incomplete tattoo because I didn’t earn the rest.”  

Sereda runs her fingers along her bare jaw and sighs deeply.  There’s a look of shame and self-loathing that Zevran hasn’t seen in a long time.  It worries him.

“If you told me what the rest of the design looks like, I could finish it for you,” Zevran offers.  “I am very talented.”

Sereda smiles sadly, reaching out and tracing her fingers along the tattoos on his face.  She looks thoughtful, as if what she has to say is very difficult.  

“Thank you, Zevran, but I won’t ever be able to earn the rest of it.  Actually, I won’t be able to return to the Stone, either, so I suppose the whole tattoo is meaningless,” Sereda says, looking away from him.  

“I am certain that, should you die on the surface, your body could be returned to Orzammar and to your Stone,” Zevran says.  

The thought of Sereda dying, even hypothetically, makes Zevran feel sick in a curious way that he’s loathe to examine too closely.  

“They wouldn’t accept it,” Sereda says.  “It’s one of the conveniences of travelling with an exile, I guess.  You can leave my body where it drops.  No need for rites or burials or the like.  Since I’ve been rejected by the Stone, I will not be allowed to weaken her.  I wouldn’t want to.”

Zevran has seen people feign belief before, and he knows that Sereda’s belief is genuine.  The weary resignation in her voice is genuine.  

“Should you perish, I am certain that many people would speak highly of you regardless of what the Stone thinks.  I certainly would have to speak of your incredible mercy and beauty,” Zevran says. 

Sereda blinks slowly.  She has this way of looking at him that makes him feel like she sees everything that he hides.  It terrifies him, the sheer amount of vulnerability he feels, but it’s exhilarating, too, because she’s  _ Sereda _ and he… trusts her. 

“That’s…” Sereda presses her lips together, and Zevran wishes he could read her mind, just in this moment.  “Try not to make Alistair blush too badly.”

Zevran chuckles easily.  “I will do my best, but no promises, my dear Warden.  He is Ferelden, and they are very easy to fluster.”

“Now, hm, maybe we should talk about something other than me dying.  It’s kind of… depressing, don’t you think?’  Sereda says.

“An excellent point,” Zevran says, leaning close to her.  “We are in a bed for once, after all.”

* * *

“I love you, I do, but this is crazy,” Sereda says with a laugh.  

“What is so crazy about wanting a bit of you to take with me to Antiva?” Zevran asks.  “I will be quite sad and lonely without you, my dear.”

“Nothing!” Sereda says, hand going to his earring, hanging from a chain around her neck.  She hasn’t taken it off since she found the chain.  “I understand.  But, I honestly have no idea how to draw.  Or ink.  Or, whatever.  I don’t want to give you an ugly tattoo.”

“Whatever you give me, it will be the most beautiful tattoo that I have, I am certain,” Zevran says.  “But if you do not want to, I understand.”

“Well, I can’t say no after you’re so sweet, especially when you’re looking at me all dashingly handsome,” Sereda says.  “Totally unfair.”

Zevran smiles and it makes Sereda’s heart skip a beat.  She had never expected to fall so deeply in love with anyone again, but it feels so good.  As much as she understands why he has to go to Antiva, she’s not looking forward to their separation at all.  

He lifts his shirt and points at a spot on his ribcage.  There aren’t any tattoos nearby, which soothes Sereda somewhat.  At least she won’t mess up one of his existing tattoos.  

“I am so lucky that I am so immensely charming,” Zevran says.  

Sereda snorts and kisses the spot that Zevran is pointing to.  “Are you sure you don’t want to give me a little direction?”

“It can be anything that will remind me of you,” Zevran says.  

“Okay, uh, don’t look.  You’ll make me nervous while poking you with needles,” Sereda says.  “That’d be bad.”

“As you wish,” Zevran says.  

Zevran leans back, lounging with his hands clasped behind his head.  He stares up at the ceiling of their room.  

Now that she’s sure that he’s not watching her, Sereda starts to work.  She’s never done this before, even though she’s seen many nobles get their own tattoos.  Her hands are steady, though, and Zevran had given her a lengthy explanation about the process.  

Sereda realizes that, while Zevran isn’t watching her hands, he is watching her face.  Well, it’s more like gazing lovingly, as cheesily cliche as that sounds.  That’s how he looks at her, though.

“You’re staring,” Sereda says, not looking up from her work.

“Mhmmmm,” Zevran hums.  

“Just as long as we’re both aware of that fact,” Sereda says.  

“Mhmmmm,” Zevran hums again.

When Sereda is finally done, she looks up at Zevran with a slightly nervous smile.  It’s ridiculous.  She’s stared down murderous brothers and archdemons and women who become dragons without fear, but Ancestors, he makes her stomach flutter.

“May I look now?” Zevran asks, mirth plain in his voice.

“If you have to,” Sereda says, sitting up.

“I have to,” Zevran says, examining his newest tattoo.

“It’s, uh, the ancient dwarven symbol for the berserkers.  I mean, I know that you’re not a berserker or a dwarf…” Sereda says, feeling the sudden need to defend her choice.

“But you are both,” Zevran finishes, running his fingers along the edges of the design. “And your ferocity in battle is the first thing that attracted me to you.”

Sereda raises an eyebrow.  “I thought it was my incredible mercy and astoundingly beautiful face.”

Zevran chuckles and keeps tracing the edges.  “I was initially attracted to you in very many ways.  It was an overwhelming time in my life.”

Sereda laughs a little despite herself.  “I bet.  But I also picked it because, well, I figured that you’re going to need a little rage, a little terror, if you’re going to take on the Antivan Crows all by yourself.”

Zevran takes her hand, squeezing lightly.  “I know that you are worried, but I cannot risk bringing the Antivan Crows down on your new order.  Now that you are in one place, there is danger.  And I must deal with the Crows as I see fit.”

“I know,” Sereda says, looking up at him.  “I’m very proud of you.  But, of course I’m going to be worried about you taking on a whole assassin guild by yourself.  There’s an awful lot of highly trained assassins trying to kill you.”

“I will not tell you not to worry- I am worried about you remaining here, after all- but I did not survive the Blight to die now, I assure you.  We will have an excellent life together, one day,” Zevran says.  “And until then, I will write you as often as I can.  I promise.”

Sereda smiles.  “I’ll join you in Antiva one day.  Once everything is settled here and the Ferelden Grey Wardens are strong, I’ll come to Antiva and nothing will part us.”

“I look forward to that day,” Zevran says tenderly.  “Until then, at least I will have your tattoo with me at all times.”

“You like it?” Sereda says.  

“Of course!  You have quite the natural talent for tattooing,” Zevran says.  “As I said, it's the most beautiful tattoo I've been given.  Thank you.”

His flattery makes her grin despite the fact that it's plainly untrue.  The lines are uneven and blurred, and the berserker symbol itself isn't exactly a work of art either.  His other tattoos are all much more… decorative.  Pretty.

“I know what you are thinking,” Zevran says, “that this is just flattery, but I assure you, I am completely in earnest.”

Sereda cups his cheek.  “Love has made you silly, my Zevran.”

Zevran ducks a little, grinning.  “Yes.   Isn't it delightful?” 

“Love looks good on you, yes,” Sereda agrees. 

Zevran blushes, and it sure is something to see the ever confident Zevran look positively bashful.  She loves it.  

“It will be so lonely in Antiva without you,” Zevran murmurs.  

“But we're together for now,” Sereda says, “and I'm sure that my inexpert tattooing must've hurt.  I'm sure that I could make you feel better.”

“My dear Warden, I like the way you think,” Zevran says with a sly grin.  

* * *

Zevran gasps as the dagger slices through muscle and sinew.  It hurts, but he pushes through the pain to end the Crow’s life.  While he has been largely successful in his efforts in Antiva thus far, today seems to be a very bad day for him.  

He tears the dead Crow’s shirt into strips to stop the worst of the bleeding before limping away.  If he stays put, he will be discovered, and this day will become even more unpleasant.  

Once he makes it to his hideout, he knows he’ll be okay.  He’s well stocked with plenty of medical supplies.  At least the blades weren’t poisoned, which makes patching himself up much easier.  

A pang of loneliness hits him as he stitches himself up.  He’s spent the last year or so in the company of others, and in cases where a healer wasn’t available, there was always someone else to stitch and bandage him up after a fight.  There were Alistair’s bumbling fingers, Sten’s uncaring practicality, and Leliana’s nimble care.  He never got quite so desperate that he let Shale or Oghren patch him up, however.  

And then, of course, there was his Sereda.  From the start, she was careful and kind.  She’d make jokes and let him flirt and, eventually, give him kisses afterwards, as a reward for being such a good patient.  It certainly made getting hurt much more pleasant than it had any right to be.  

Zevran realizes that one of the cuts went right through the tattoo on his collarbone.  It’s deep, and he stitches himself up with a sigh.

“Braska!” he swears when examines it in the mirror.  

It’s going to scar.  Of course, there are plenty of scars on his body; they’re nothing new.  But for some reason, this one upsets him in particular.  

He knows why.  Because Sereda likes to stroke that tattoo when they’re cuddling together, and he misses her touch so much.  Antiva is lonely without her, and on days like this, he regrets leaving her.

Zevran will have to write her about this, he knows.  She made him promise that he wouldn’t spare her any details if he had close calls, and he intends to keep every promise to her.  

At least the tattoo she gave him is still completely intact.  He touches it longingly, wishing to feel her talented fingers at work once more.

* * *

Zevran watches as Sereda sheds layers of clothing as she walks across the roof.  There is something different about her since she joined him in Antiva, something he can’t quite put his finger on.  She’s so… light, now.  

With a piercing grin, she turns and looks back at him.  

“Are you coming?” Sereda asks, stretching her arms above her head.  “I want my tattoo from famed tattoo artist Zevran Arainai.”

“I am admiring the view, my dear.  You are endlessly beautiful,” Zevran says with a smile.  “And I must say, I never imagined that you would strip naked in the middle of Antiva City.”

“We’re up high!  No one will see me!  And the sun feels so good, Zevran.  It feels so good against my skin,” Sereda says with a deep sigh.

Zevran strips off his clothes, joining her.  “So, what is your desire?” 

“I have so many,” Sereda says, smiling up at him.  “But right now, I want a tattoo.  Something that reminds me of you.  It can be as big or as small as you want.”

“As you wish,” Zevran says, nudging her gently to the ground.  “I will enjoy having such a beautiful canvass to work on.”   

Sereda shivers as he skims his fingers over her body idly, trying to decide what he wants to tattoo.  There are so many possibilities, not to mention that he finds the sight of her naked body quite distracting.  

He finally decides on an appropriate design and gets to work.  It's been some time since he's given someone a tattoo, but he remembers what he's doing.  

“Next time, there'll be rosewater and massages,” Zevran says.  “In true Antivan fashion.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sereda says, smiling at him.  

Zevran finishes up and sits back, pleased with his work.  He hopes that she likes it.  Tattooing something that she’s moderately afraid of onto her skin may have been a bad idea, but she did say that she wanted something that reminded her of him.  

“It’s the sun,” Sereda says softly, looking down at the design he put on her lower thigh.  “A bright, beautiful sun.”

Zevran leans down to kiss the skin right below it.  “Yep.  It is quite good, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s so good,” Sereda agrees.  She cards her fingers through his hair, guiding him upwards so their faces are level.  “Nothing reminds me of you quite like the sun does.”

Zevran frowns a little.  “So you’ve said.  I never quite know how to take that, considering you’re slightly terrified of the sun.”

“You’re like the sun without the burning.  You’re bright, you’re warm, and you just radiate light,” Sereda says, cupping his face and smiling at him.  “And even though there was a time when I couldn’t imagine anything worse than living under the sun, now I can’t imagine living without it.  Life changing.”

Zevran leans into her touch, trying hard not to blush.  She could tell him the filthy things she wants them to do together and he wouldn’t be fazed at all, but her heartfelt affections never fail to make him blush like some innocent.  

“Ah, so it is not so bad, then,” Zevran says.  

“It's the best,” Sereda assures him.  

* * *

Years and years pass, and Zevran gives Sereda plenty more tattoos.  He even manages to persuade her to give him a few more tattoos, and she even gets a little better at it.  They also end up with children.  Twins, in fact.  Jelah and Amias are so bright and curious and they remind Zevran of their mother more and more each day.  

“Why do you and Mama have drawings all over?” Jelah asks one night as Zevran rocks her to sleep (or tries to, at least).

It takes a minute for Zevran to realize that she means the tattoos.  He chuckles softly.  

“You are trying to get out of going to sleep, sweetling,” Zevran says with a smile.  “You are quite mischievous, but I am onto your tricks.”

“Nuh uh, me and Amias have been trying to figure it out for a while,” Jelah says.

“One day, Mama and I will tell you all about our tattoos.  But for now, it's time for you to sleep,” Zevran says. 

“I'm awake!” Jelah protests.  

Zevran looks over to where the aforementioned brother is asleep soundly in Sereda’s arms.  She’s also asleep, or close to it, head lolling back and forth.  The sight makes him smile.

“But both Amias and Mama are sleeping,”  Zevran points out.  “And we should not awaken them.”

Jelah yawns, eyes drooping.  “But I wanna know now.”

“But you love how Mama tells stories, and I’m sure she would want to tell you herself,” Zevran says, kissing her blonde hair.  “I promise, we’ll tell you.  We both have many stories to tell you, little one.”

Jelah’s eyes slide all the way shut, and Zevran rocks her, humming softly.  He wants to be certain he’s asleep before moving, or else she’ll wake up and he’ll have to begin again.  Not that he minds- it feels so good to soothe his children to sleep.  At their age, he slept on the floor with the other children of the whorehouse.  This is much better.

Once he’s certain that she’s asleep, Zevran stands up and walks over to her bed.  He lays her down gently, brushing her hair out of her face.  The weather is starting to turn cold, so Zevran pulls a second blanket over her and tucks her in.  

“Goodnight, Jelah,” Zevran murmurs.

Zevran kisses her forehead, lingering there for a moment before turning towards the other chair.  He takes a moment to take in his wife with their son in her arms, both soundly asleep.  It’s a beautiful sight.  He carefully takes Amias out of her arms and tucks him in, kissing his forehead, too.  

“Sereda,” Zevran murmurs, poking her awake and offering his hand.  “I believe it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Her eyes are blurry with sleep as she checks on where each of their children are.  Once she sees where they are, she takes his hand and gets up.  She gives their children kisses and then presses herself against him as they walk down to their room.

“Jelah asked about our tattoos,” Zevran tells her when they’re curled up together in bed.  His arms are wrapped around her and she presses a kiss to her neck.  “Apparently her and Amias are discussing them with curiosity.”

Sereda laughs.  “Are they ever anything but curious?”

“You are right, of course.  They are like their mother that way,” Zevran murmurs.  

“Hmmm.  Maybe we could give them a demonstration.  It’s always best to see how something actually works,” Sereda says.  

“So you’ll give me another tattoo, then?” Zevran asks teasingly.  

Sereda turns to face him with a sleepy smile on her face.  “They should probably see an expert do it first.”

“You just love me for my tattoo skills,” Zevran jokes.

“I love you for more reasons than I know how to express,” Sereda murmurs.  She nuzzles her face against his chest.  “I haven’t come across the words yet.”

“And yet, I understand perfectly,” Zevran assures her.

“Oh!  There’s a reason.  Because you understand,” Sereda says, tracing slow fingers over a tattoo.  There’s no way that she can see it in the dark, but by now, she knows where they all are.  “Because you’ve always understood.”

Zevran lets his eyes flutter closed as she keeps tracing his tattoos.  It always feels so good to have her touch him like this.  For a long time, he thought touches had to be sexual or painful, but his dear Sereda- and other people he met during their adventures- taught him there are all kinds of good ways to touch someone that are neither.  

“I’m thinking the outline of a dragon,” Sereda murmurs sleepily.  “I dunno why I don’t have a dragon tattoo already, honestly.  We killed three dragons together, after all.  And dragons are cool.”

“They are very cool,” Zevran agrees, stroking her hair.  

Sereda hums happily.  “Love you, love killing dragons with you, love all of you.”

Zevran chuckles; she’s adorable when she’s half asleep.  “I believe that you’re sleepy, my beautiful Sereda.”

Her hands slow down, coming to rest on his back as she snuggles against him.  “Very.  Still true, though.”

“You’re almost as intractable as the children.  Go to sleep, love,” Zevran murmurs.  

The only answer she gives is a soft snore, breath tickling his chest.  He looks forward to adding another tattoo to her body.  They both have their histories written into their skin, stretching far back before they even met.  It’s one of the many things they share with each other, and he loves it.


End file.
